In the Uttara Kannada district of Karnataka, the Aghanashini and Sharavathi rivers present a contrasting story. While both flow through the Western Ghats, their stories of conservation and exploitation are vastly different. While the Aghanashini river has remained relatively undisturbed and was recently declared a Ramsar site, the Sharavati continues to face relentless developmental pressures.
The Aghanashini River, originating from Manjuguni in Sirsi taluk, flows for 117 km before meeting the Arabian Sea near Kumta. On its way, it nurtures fertile plains, mangroves, and estuarine farms. It is one of the last free-flowing rivers in the world, untouched by dams or large-scale diversions. Its estuary supports traditional livelihoods such as salt production in Sanikatta, Gajani Kagga paddy farming, and estuarine fishing.
In January 2024, 4,801 hectares of the Aghanashini estuary were declared a Ramsar wetland site, acknowledging its biodiversity, which includes over 80 species of fish, 115 bird species, and 45 mangrove and associated species.
Following this recognition, local scientists and conservationists have called for forming an Aghanashini Ramsar Wetland Conservation Authority. Several NGOs and community groups have held consultations to develop a management plan that balances ecological protection with the needs of dependent communities.
Notably, earlier proposals for constructing a commercial port and installing floating solar panels on the estuary were permanently scrapped due to strong opposition from local stakeholders, scientists, and environmentalists. Many locals cited the ecological degradation witnessed in the nearby Sharavati river as a cautionary example.
In contrast, the Sharavati river, which originates at Ambuthirtha in Tirthahalli taluk and flows 128 km before draining into the sea near Honnavar, has experienced significant transformation. The construction of the Linganamakki Dam in the 1960s diverted much of its natural flow for hydroelectric power generation. The river, which once fed the iconic Jog Falls, is now fragmented and further threatened by developmental activities.
Over the past several years, illegal sand mining and the construction of the Honnavar port have triggered concerns among environmental groups. The destruction of turtle nesting sites has also added to the ecological toll. In August 2024, protests erupted over proposals to divert Sharavati water to meet the growing needs of Bengaluru city.
Last week, the National Board for Wildlife gave in-principle approval to a pumped storage hydroelectric project, despite strong opposition to it due to environmental concerns and the effect on the Sharavathi Lion Tailed Macaque sanctuary.
The continuous opposition to developmental projects has not afforded the same level of protection to the Sharavati as the Aghanashini. Experts say Sharavathi’s steep gradient—from high altitudes to the coast—makes it ideal for hydroelectric projects, increasing the pressure on its ecosystem. While environmentalists had opposed dam-building and deforestation in the past, the demand for cheap electricity often overrode ecological concerns.
These two rivers, shaped by the same ancient mountain range, now stand as symbols of two diverging futures—one preserved, the other profoundly altered.
The differing trajectories of these two rivers highlight the urgent need to reconsider developmental models in ecologically sensitive regions. As the Aghanashini moves toward community-led conservation, the Sharavati remains emblematic of the costs of prioritising infrastructure over environment.
A closer examination of these two rivers, the Sharavati and the Aghanashini, reveals the sharp divide between the impacts of human intervention and the resilience of nature.
The Aghanashini continues to sustain traditional practices like fishing, salt production, and paddy cultivation. Exploring these two rivers allows us to understand how human actions shape not only the environment but also the future of the communities that depend on these water bodies for their survival.
Before the construction of the Sharavati Dam in 1964, communities along the river lived in close harmony with their natural surroundings, engaging in diverse livelihood activities. In the upper reaches of Hosanagara and Sagara, agriculture and freshwater fishing were predominant. Downstream, in the coastal region of Honnavara, people relied on small-boat fishing, cast netting, hook-and-line fishing, and the collection of edible clams. Allied occupations, such as producing edible lime from clam shells, also supported local economies. Together, these practices fostered a sustainable relationship between the river and the people who depended on it.
The construction of the Linganamakki Dam in 1964, part of a hydroelectric project, led to the submergence of vast stretches of agricultural land and numerous human settlements in the backwater. Entire communities were displaced, often receiving minimal compensation, and were left to rebuild their lives from scratch. The loss of homes, farmlands, and access to the river brought a deep sense of uncertainty.
In 1987, the construction of another dam at Gerusoppa drastically altered the Sharavati’s natural flow, causing the river mouth to shift further north. This shift had devastating consequences for the coastal communities. The fishing village of Mallukurva was completely submerged, while 75% of Pavanakurava, 10% of Karki, and 5% of Honnavara were lost to the changing river dynamics. On the left bank, sand accretion reshaped the landscape in Kasarkoda, where the river once flowed freely. The river mouth’s displacement not only wiped out homes and infrastructure but also destroyed the primary livelihoods of these villagers, leaving them in a state of uncertainty and struggle.
Downstream, the impact was particularly severe for women who had long depended on collecting edible clams for their livelihoods. The regulated flow of the Sharavati led to a sharp decline in salinity levels, wiping out the once-abundant clam populations that were crucial to the local economy. Women, who traditionally harvested clams during low tide and played a key role in supporting their households, suddenly found their source of income vanish.
Prakash Mesta, a marine biologist and community leader from Honnavar, observed that the large-scale production of edible lime from clam shells – a practice that had supported local economies for generations – came to a complete halt following the construction of the dam. The ecological disruption also led to the disappearance of species like the river terrapin, once commonly found in the Sharavati. The dam not only altered the river's natural course but also triggered the collapse of traditional livelihoods, with women in particular facing the harshest consequences.
While the Aghanashini estuary continues to support traditional practices like the paddy–fish farming system, this harmony is now under pressure. The rise of shrimp aquaculture – often driven by external commercial interests – has begun to threaten these age-old sustainable methods. However, the natural salinity gradients in the estuary still nurture a rich diversity of fish species, offering a reliable source of livelihood for the local fishing communities. So yes, the threat is slowly inching toward Aghanashini as well, raising concerns that, without careful management, it could follow a trajectory similar to that of the Sharavati.
The differing fates of the Sharavati and Aghanashini rivers reveal the lasting impact of human intervention on fragile ecosystems. The Sharavati stands as a cautionary example, where early warnings from the Gadgil Committee were weakened by the Kasturirangan Report, allowing developmental pressures, driven by political interests, to override ecological concerns.
The Aghanashini remains free-flowing, thanks to strong community resistance that halted port construction and floating solar projects. Following its declaration as a Ramsar site in 2024, efforts are now underway to form a Wetland Conservation Authority. However, creeping threats like shrimp aquaculture suggest the need for continued vigilance. Protecting these rivers demands a firm commitment to science-led conservation and resistance to politically motivated exploitation.
(All photo credits are to the authors)
Prashanth R is a researcher with the Foundation for Ecological Security. Amalendu Jyotishi is faculty at Azim Premji University. Views expressed here are the authors’ own.